


Life's a Bitch

by SmallOrangeFruit



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Spoilers for Book 2: Wayward Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallOrangeFruit/pseuds/SmallOrangeFruit
Summary: Baz makes a choice.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	Life's a Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> For R

**SIMON**

Baz is plotting something.

**BAZ**

Simon thinks I’m plotting something.

**SIMON**

I know he is.

**BAZ**

I am.

**SIMON**

I can always tell when Baz is plotting something. I have a sixth sense for Baz plotting.

**BAZ**

I’ve been plotting this for years. (He’s only just noticed.)

~~~~~

**BAZ**

Simon greets me at the door, sliding his hands inside my jacket and kissing me. I think it might be a Pavlovian response to the smell of curry. (I don’t complain.)

I wrap my free arm around his waist and pull him closer. He lets me hold him for a long second. Then he’s gone, taking the bag of takeout with him.

I shed my coat and boots and join him in the kitchen. He’s got the table set already. Just like he always does.

In some ways, our lives haven’t changed much in years. Simon still gets up early. I still kick him when he tries to poke me awake.

His eyes still light up when we have roast beef. I still live off the blood of lesser mammals. 

He still waits for me to come home from class. I still make him kiss me before handing over the food. 

It’s warm and comfortable and familiar.

It makes the differences even more stark.

Simon gets up early to go to work. I eat dinner with my hand by my side. He’ll turn down food if he isn’t hungry. I’m teaching a course instead of taking one.

He’s older. (That’s different.) His face has lost the last remnants of baby fat. He has more freckles. (Sun damage.) His smiles reach all the way to his eyes. He’s getting older.

I’m not.

**SIMON**

Baz has barely touched his vindaloo. He keeps pushing it around his plate. (Like maybe it will be more appealing if he sees it from a different angle.)

I want to tell him to stop. (He’s wasting perfectly good food.) But I hold back. 

It feels like we’re on the edge here. Like maybe he’s finally ready to take the leap.

I want him to do it.

I’m prepared. He can’t surprise me anymore. 

**BAZ**

Simon’s jaw is set, and there’s a stubborn crease between his brows. He looks prepared for anything.

My wand is burning a hole in my pocket. I’m going to do it.

**SIMON**

I know it’s happening when Baz tells me to leave the washing up for later. (Baz never tells me to leave the washing up for later.)

I follow him into our living room. He sits on the edge of the sofa, and I take the cushion next to him. Neither of us says anything. We both know it’s his move.

He draws his wand out of his jacket pocket and rests it on his thigh.

“Give me your hand,” he says.

I’m not surprised. Not really. (Baz is every bit a magician.)

I am hesitant though. (I don’t need it. I don’t want it.)

“What is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and I don’t know why. I’m confused. (He knows. He should know.)

I don’t give him my hand. After a long pause, he relents.

“Simon,” he says. He’s gentle. “It doesn’t work that way.”

I’m stubborn. “What doesn’t work that way?”

He meets my gaze straight on. There’s a challenge there and a softness.

“A proposal,” he says.

**BAZ**

Simon looks like I’ve clunked him over the head with a flowerpot. It’s a good look on him.

**SIMON**

I don’t know what to say. What am I supposed to say? He looks so smug. I have to say something. 

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

He lifts one elegant eyebrow. It’s a familiar expression. One he reserves for particularly dimwitted students. 

“No, Simon,” he says, and there’s such a fond look on his face that I almost forgive him the eyebrow lift. “I’m asking you to let me propose to you.”

He holds out his hand once again, and this time I give him mine.

Because I don’t need the magic. (I just need him.) But maybe he needs this. 

Baz’s fingers are cool in my grip, and I give them a brief squeeze.

He’s going to propose. Baz is going to propose.

**BAZ**

I don’t actually need it. (His hand, that is.) This spell’s not for him.

I want it though. I want to hold his hand while I do this. 

**SIMON**

Baz casts the spell with a flick of his wand.

**Life’s a bitch, then you die**.

I’ve never heard of it before.

I feel a spark of magic – Baz’s magic – but it’s gone as soon as it’s come. I look around, then back at Baz. He’s still gripping my hand. I feel the same.

I feel the same.

“Nothing’s changed,” I croak. My heart is beating far too fast.

It didn’t work. Can we still get married if it didn’t work?

**BAZ**

Simon’s panicking. He thinks something’s gone wrong.

He’s wrong. Something’s finally gone right.

I grip his hand and wait for the magic to burn through me. Remaking me, cell by cell.

When it’s done, I pull him closer. (Because I want to. Because I can.) And I smile, fangs and all.

“Everything’s changed,” I tell him.

He looks so confused. (Like he’s still the scrawny boy I fell in love with.)

“What did you do?” he asks.

His other hand is on my thigh now. I can feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of my trousers. I want to kiss him. (I will. After.)

“I made a choice.”

He looks down at our joined hands. (Like they might give him the answer.)

“What did you choose?” His voice sounds so uncertain. (I’m not though. I’m certain.)

It’s the only thing I could choose. The only thing I’ve ever wanted.

“A life with you,” I say.

He looks up at me then, his eyes soft. (Like I’m still the angry boy he fell in love with.)

“Baz,” he says. “You already have a life with me.”

As if it were ever that simple.

“One life, Simon,” I say. (He doesn’t seem to get it.)

I run my hand up his neck, cup his cheek, lean in.

He lets out a breath, and I tell him.

“One lifetime.”


End file.
